


Illyria, Alone

by elisi



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi





	1. Chapter 1

When morning dawned, Illyria was far from the alley where the fight had begun. The first rays of sunlight flashed across the sky and illuminated the god-king where she stood, alone amongst the dead. The blood of untold enemies slowly drying on her hide, her hands and body sated from the all-night slaughter, she raised her face, which was not her face, to greet the sun; a giver of life just as she had once been.

The battle had raged far and wide, the army of The Wolf, The Ram and The Hart spreading out and bringing chaos wherever it went. But in the early morning all was now quiet. Illyria looked around, noting the devastation her hands had wrought. An entire army, dead at her hands as was only proper - she who was beauty and destruction.

As she stood still, letting the warmth of the sun soothe away the last of her rage, she heard sirens in the distance. The humans were here already, interrupting her silent triumph. Busy, busy, busy; each one an alien conundrum of hopes and fears - thousands of disparate impulses guiding them in ways she could not understand. Strange, repulsive and illogical, and yet they had arranged themselves into a society as carefully as ants in an anthill.

In this world of men, she was but a mote. Unknown, alone. Never before had she felt small, and the feeling was not welcome.

How could her plans have gone so awry? She should have been the sovereign now, the world swaying to fulfil her wishes. But her armies were dust, her followers few and scattered, and she was trapped in the body of a lesser being, her powers diminished. And yet she could feel that the undercurrents of power had shifted in this night that had gone. The Circle of the Black Thorn had left a vacuum and she was drawn to it, like a bee to nectar.

But the cost had been high...

Her Qua'Ha-Xahn - her Wesley - was dead.

Her vampire Champions were dead, as were their friends.

The only places that had been familiar, her sarcophagus, the W&amp;H building, were gone.

What could she do? She could not leave, and she would not stay - doomed to inhabit such an inferior place. But she did not have the tools for reigning in this place. The humans, with their sneakiness and guile, had taken the world from the demons. And she could not bring the demons back.

Angel had followed the orders of Powers she had once outshone. Helping and protecting people, holding back the dark powers for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. He had talked about sacrifice and saving the world - all words for servitude.

But she was Illyria, and all she knew was to rule.

And then she smiled, her hard, frozen blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight, because she suddenly realised that her first Qua'Ha-Xahn had given her the best gift of all.


	2. Chapter 2

The first task Illyria set herself was to retrieve Wesley's body. With great stealth she managed to carry it to his flat from Vail's palace. It helped that the night's battle had obviously unsettled the humans and no one paid much notice to her, the streets being full police officers and other official looking characters, trying to keep chaos at bay.

As she was about to wrench the door to Wesley's apartment open with force, she stopped herself. Humans were weak, and therefore never used force if they could use wits instead. For doors, humans used keys. They carried these with them, secreted in pockets. Wesley should therefore be the carrier of the keys to his dwelling place. After a swift search, followed by a frustrating bout of trial-and-error, the door finally opened and she could carry her burden through and into the bedroom.

For a long time Illyria sat beside Wesley on the bed, thinking. In former times, she would only have had to reach out and touch him, and his wounds would have healed, his heart begun beating again. The loss of this power was as acute as the grief she felt at the man's death. How could humans live so confined, so powerless, so utterly incapable of shaping their own future? A slave to their emotions and baser impulses, always pining for what had vanished...

No, this was not her way. She would no longer cling to the past. It was gone and her old way of ruling was obsolete. She needed to adapt - she must learn to be sneaky. She sat immobile, as still as the dead figure by her side, slowly mapping out her new plan. It would take time - a long time - but she was immortal and time had once been hers to command, she understood its flows and ebbs. Angel had cut down the large tree that was the Circle of the Black Thorn and it would take time for it to grow strong again. And she would grow alongside, slowly but surely blocking it from the light of the sun, choking it from above and strangling its roots from below. Their weapon was secrecy. Hers would be... the opposite.

When all was clear in her mind, she began inspecting Wesley's home. Everything was neat and tidy - he had obviously put a great deal of effort into making his home as ordered as possible. But she recognised this for what it was - outward order to help his inner turmoil. Fred had been the same, attempting to arrange the universe into numbers and formulas as a way of controlling it.

Carefully she picked out all the magical and powerful items and soon she had the ingredients she needed for her gathering spell. It was not fitting for her to have to do this, but she had no choice - her depleted powers did not allow for her to reach out as she had in the past. Sitting down cross-legged in the middle of the circle she had drawn, she began.

She cast her beacon city-wide, not knowing how many devotees she had. Those committed enough to have her name or symbol marked upon their flesh would feel the pull and come to serve her.

Two hours later, seven followers had found her. The first six were useless and she sent them away. But number seven, a middle-aged man in a suit, who was obviously of some importance in society, appeared intelligent and eloquent.

She stopped her beacon and found out that his name was Jamesson. She studied him carefully, then laid her first matter before him.

"My Qua'Ha Xahn is dead. He needs to be buried. What are the customs amongst humans?"

Jamesson explained at length. She listened carefully, then asked further questions. After a pause to weigh the options, she made a decision.

"My Qua'Ha Xahn had family. I wish to contact them. Show me how."

More explanations followed, and another search of the apartment. Telephones and address books were a curious concept, but she studied both meticulously. From the remnants of Fred within her she had memories of these things, but it was like watching a television screen with the sound turned off - the underlying understanding was missing. But as her new guide expounded, comprehension lit up the darkness and she swiftly grasped the idea.

As she looked through Wesley's book of numbers, she saw the names of Winifred Burkle's parents. They would make a good first test, having been fooled in the past.

She heard Jamesson gasp behind her when she replied to Trish Burkle's "Hello?" with a cute Texan lilt: "Mom? It's Fred!"

As she explained to Fred's parents that there had been a battle in which all of Team Angel had probably died - except for her, since 'the boys' wouldn't let her fight - she marvelled at the ease with which the words flowed past her lips. Half-truths and deceit mixed effortlessly with her own recent grief, so the emotion that imbued her tale was not feigned. This was interesting and she made a note of it.

And even as she spoke, a part of her mind recalled the first lesson that Wesley had ever taught her of this world.

_There's love. There's hope... for some. There's hope that you'll find something worthy... that your life will lead you to some joy... that after everything... you can still be surprised._

She would surprise the world. She would give it something worthy - something to love and worship. And she would no longer be alone.


	3. Chapter 3

When Illyria had said goodbye to Trish Burkle, she stood still for a moment, contemplating what lay ahead. She knew what she had to do next - what she would have to suffer for her Qua'Ha-Xhan - but yet it rankled. Speaking to Roger Wyndham-Pryce would require her to flatter another's ego, to placate and cajole and use everything she'd leant about humans to make sure her dear Wesley would be remembered with honour.

_"O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!"_ she thought - the words springing into her mind from whence she knew not. As she pondered the strangeness of human behaviour, it came to her that humans always changed their appearance to suit the occasion - clothes and make-up and accessories displaying their power and ideologies, the way she had in former times adorned herself with the bones of those she had defeated. And yet there was more to it - humans also used their armour as a way of making themselves change from without. Reflecting the power - the attitude - inwards.

The display of Fred's appearance might help her through the discourse with Wesley's father.

A moment's silent concentration later and Miss Burkle's countenance overlaid her own. She heard Jamesson gasp, but ignored him, as she started pressing the code on the telephone.

Many tortuous minutes later she was finally able to utter the customary farewell. The father's grief for his son was satisfying and revolting in equal measures, but it had helped her own agenda well. Also she was pleased with her assessment of the Watcher's organisation - as teachers of warriors they had much honour and would not fail to grasp her Wesley's valour. But knowing that she would have to speak to these people in only a few hours time, mourning and lamentation hanging about them, cloying the air and making her own existence worse moment by moment, was most unpleasant to contemplate.

Finally she looked at her new servant and deigned to explain whose shell she was wearing. He looked at her thoughtfully for a while, then slowly said, "Winifred Burkle... now why does that ring a bell?"

"You were acquainted with the shell?" she asked, surprised. "I cannot find you amongst her memories."

"No no. But I'm sure I've heard the name. What did Miss Burkle do before she had the honour of becoming your vessel?"

Illyria frowned lightly, wondering at the curiosity. Her latest guide had until now been calmer than an endless void, a welcome respite from those she had previously known. Knox had been a babbling, but knowledgeable, fool, and Wesley had been a shattered man, inside his defences - the shards and jagged edges of his brokenness fascinating to her. Jamesson on the other hand seemed more like one of the lawyers from W&amp;H - tall and slightly corpulent, brown hair stained with silver, polite and deliberate. And yet there was curiosity underneath the unruffled exterior. It would appear that it was one of the defining characteristics of humanity.

She began explaining who Fred had been, but when she mentioned Fred's place of study, Jamesson's eyes lit up.

"That's my old college!" He stopped for a second, then enlightenment flooded his features. "Ah, yes, now I know why the name rang a bell. One of Professor Seidel's students if I recall correctly... very promising. It's all coming back to me now. She vanished, didn't she, along with some other brilliant students? I used to be quite involved on various committees some years ago, we had a hell of a time trying to cover it up. Can't attract the talent if there's a kidnapper around..."

He stopped and looked at her quizzically. "I guess you can tell me what happened - pardon me your Highness, I think I interrupted your tale."

After a moments hesitation she continued, but she noticed a new level of attention in him. Something other than worship... and also different from Wesley's and Knox's obsession. Doing a tortuous search through Fred's memories she came across the phrase 'the personal touch' - how to make something mundane intimate through a direct connection. There were people that Fred recalled, ordinary people that she met but once, that had made an impression on her. This was a new thing and Illyria was fascinated. She reversed her search, and sure enough it would seem that people had the same sort of reaction to Fred. Everyone cared about her, because... _because she cared about them._

Illyria smiled triumphantly. _That_ was the key she had been looking for, the thing that unlocked the mystery of human interactions. Tiny, tiny details mattered to them - a rude word or glance could cause great offence, a smile could cause quite disproportionate happiness... the understanding rippled through her and she realised that she would have to re-evaluate her Fred impersonation. She had thought people liked Fred because of her beauty, her intelligence, her wit, her charm - all her great strengths. But it would seem that the woman's kindness - her effort to connect with people - was even more important.

As she came to this new and illuminating conclusion, she finished her story of Fred's life and inclined her head a fraction when Jamesson thanked her. She was increasingly pleased with her choice - as a guide he was proving admirably competent, and his quiet understanding was very soothing.

Soon afterwards they set off to 'talk to the authorities' - Wesley's parents would come the next day and there was paperwork to sort out. Illyria mourned the loss of Charles Gunn, who would have been able to fix it all within 5 minutes, but Jamesson was capable enough, and the exercise was not as trying as she had anticipated. She also tried out her new theory of human interaction, and to her delight found that it worked like a charm on the clerk who attended them.

"I'm sorry miss, but these sorts of things take more than a day to get done. From what you tell me, you've not even got a death certificate yet."

"But..." she manfully held back the tears that welled up. "But I called ahead, and was assured that it could be done. His parents are coming tomorrow, and I don't know how to do any of this... it's all just so awful - we were gonna be married in the autumn and now..."

She burst into tears and Jamesson awkwardly patted her on the arm.

"You sure you can't sort this out? My niece is under severe emotional stress - I mean if there are any problems I'll be happy to deal with them..."

The clerk looked from one to the other, hesitating.

"Please?" Illyria asked, taking a deep shaky breath. "I mean, if it was someone _you_ cared about..."

"I'll see what I can do." he replied, and Illyria gave him the widest, most grateful smile she could muster.

A little later she and her aide sat waiting, and Illyria observed how the town officials were desperately trying to deal with the aftermath of the big battle - she often had to stop herself from smiling, overhearing many remarks as to the overwhelming destruction. It was balm to her soul, even if she could not acknowledge her part openly.

When everything was sorted out to her satisfaction, Jamesson asked permission to leave, since he had people to meet and places to be, and she readily let him go. She would keep watch by Wesley's body tonight, as the custom was for great warriors and servants. His father had mentioned a family tomb - this would be befitting, and she was pleased. Maybe one day she would be able to restore him...

The next day was wearisome. The proud, haughty man she recalled meeting many months ago (although he had only been a facsimile), had been broken by his son's death. But at least he was silent and haunted, as opposed to his wife who cried a great deal. Being Fred, Illyria had to act in a kind and concerned manner, even as she tried to project the signs of human grief. It was one thing to cry for 5 minutes for a clerk... quite something else to spend a whole day in the company of mourners. She spoke repeatedly of Wesley's bravery and unshakeable character, hinted at the future they might have had together, praised his honesty and skill, until she finally said farewell as they left with the body. The relief was overwhelming.

Needing peace, but not desiring to stay any longer in Wesley's apartment, she decided to go to Fred's abode. Wesley - being organised as ever - had kept a key that she easily found. All went well, until she walked down the hallway of Fred's building, and a little old lady came out of her flat. Upon seeing 'Fred' she broke into a wide smile and burst into joyous rapture.

"My dear Miss Burkle! Where have you been? It's been _months_ since I saw you - I think you might have been going to some kinda fancy dressing up party because you looked ever so peculiar. Tell me sweetheart, how are you doin'? Oh you've been visiting your family? I was just saying to Mrs Feldman the other day that I was _sure_ you were fine - I remember meeting your mother a few years ago and she was such a lovely person... Have you heard of the racket a few nights ago? They were saying something about terrorists on the news, just awful if you ask me..."

After a few false starts, Illyria was finally able to break through the word torrent: "Please... excuse me - you see my... my Wesley died in the... incident. You remember seeing him, surely? Tall and handsome Englishman..."

She did Fred's 'crumple face' for the 53rd time since the sun had risen, the action feeling almost natural now. Her neighbour exclaimed loudly upon the tragedy and the unfairness of life that took young people away and left old ones like her hanging around for much too long. Illyria had to restrain herself from fulfilling the old lady's death wish there and then and slowly managed to extract herself from the repeated offers of a cup of coffee and a friendly ear.

When she was finally inside Fred's flat, she felt like her head might explode. Knowing that she was stuck here, like a fly in a bottle, confined to a tiny glass prison when once all the worlds had been hers to command, was the most exquisite torture. She needed to focus on something else...

Slowly she walked around the rooms, noting the dust that had settled on every surface. The world broken into tiny particles, less than nothing to look upon. She - Illyria - had been dust for untold aeons, resting. And now Fred's life was dust, like Illyria's armies and foes - the smallest and the greatest coming to the same ending. She remembered dusting Spike and Angel before she was blasted back through time, remembered waking up in Fred's body for the first time, feet away from where she was now standing. With Wesley ready to kill her... she shuddered involuntarily, forcing her mind to stop dwelling on the past and the futility of life.

She would not turn to dust. Not ever again.


	4. Chapter 4

"OK, I figured your problem - you need a completely new wardrobe!"

Harmony followed this statement with a slow, sad shake of her head, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Illyria looked at Harmony, frowning. "I do not detect any defects in this furniture item. It has not been 6 months since it was purchased and Fred chose it with care."

For reasons she Illyria could not grasp, Harmony burst out laughing. They were standing in Fred's bedroom in front of the large wooden wardrobe in the corner, its doors open wide. Illyria had stood in the same spot only 2 days before, wondering how to proceed. She had with Jamesson's help been busy restoring Fred's life - getting back utilities to the flat, setting up substantial funds in Fred's name, buying large amounts of books on wide range of subjects and so forth. But then she had hit a snag - Fred's appearance. From a cursory glance at women's magazines, as well as Jamesson's swift denial of any knowledge, this would seem to be something far more difficult than she had anticipated. Human clothing was coded, like everything else in this world, and she needed someone to translate. Her mind had wandered back to a certain conversation with Harmony many months ago, and after a swift search of the town, Harmony had been found and was now her 'Personal Shopper' (a title she had chosen for herself). Her prattle was wearying, but knowing that she could be staked at any time made her a little quieter than usual, and she quickly quelled her laughter.

"Um, what I meant - your Highness - is that Fred's clothes are not very... uh..." Harmony stopped again and appeared to actually think very carefully about her next sentence. Illyria smiled approvingly.

"Well you need to be more Jackie O and less mad scientist - more elegant and like... classy, yeah?"

"This sounds sensible. We will go purchase new clothing."

Illyria turned and left the room, Fred's features already in place.

"Oh great! This is totally the best job ever!" her guide squealed and followed, barely containing her delight.

"Jamesson - taxi!" Illyria ordered, and he bowed almost imperceptibly.

"Straight away your Highness!"

*****

And thus began Illyria's great transformation. She spent the summer acquainting herself with human life, one tedious task at a time. Jamesson and Harmony taught her how to function as a person - shopping, dressing, cooking, interacting with people and technology. Slowly learning all the tiny minutiae that humans did without thinking.

There were times - such as when Jamesson was explaining how to balance a budget, or when Harmony expounded on the subject of hair care products - that Illyria felt like going back to The Deeper Well and sleep again, rather than having to endure the torture of such banalities. Instead she'd slip out during the night and kill as many demons as she could find.

After mastering the basics, she then tackled American culture and history, as well as physics and Fred's theories in particular. As she began studying the latter in depth she was filled with genuine pleasure, because here was something useful at last. Inquiring into the foundations and structures of the universe would not be an unhappy task.

After 3 months, she felt up to the task of 'being Winifred Burkle' full time and easily got a job at the Physics Institute. Teaching suited her, as she found no one wondered at a scientist being a little on the pedantic side, and Fred's charm was of course a great help. She often overheard people remarking upon her 'presence' - the way she could effortlessly command the rapt attention of an entire room of students, or how professors more than twice her age would modestly ask her opinion. Her plan was working.

*****

_Time passed. Seconds gathered up orderly, becoming minutes. Minutes added up and in due time became hours. Time never swayed from its course, never hastened or slowed down. Illyria would sometimes watch an hourglass, counting the sand grains as they fell through the narrow gap between future and past. But there was no way of holding onto that mercurial 'now' - it was a moving target and one she could no longer catch. To be restrained and held prisoner by what she had once been the master of was a cruel fate indeed. Time - and space - had been her playthings, bending to her whim, shaped by her hands. And now... _

_Now she had to labour hard for just the minutest fraction of control. And yet she felt the strangest sense of satisfaction when an experiment worked, when her 'colleagues' applauded her for breaking yet another law of nature. _

_Fred's work suited her very well indeed. _

******

It had been a long day, and Illyria savoured the sweet freedom of loneliness as she closed the flat door behind her. She cast an automatic glance in the mirror, absentmindedly wondering if she should have a haircut... maybe some curls? Picking up the mail she noticed a large envelope from Jamesson. She smiled and eagerly opened it, revealing the medical records she had hoped for. Quickly she scanned the pages - yes all the dates were right, the signatures perfect... Her 'little trip' to Pylea had quietly been turned into an extended coma, the spell so low profile that she would defy anyone but the Powers themselves to find it.

Before she went to put the documents in the filing cabinet she turned - as she did every morning and evening - to look above the door, where she had made Harmony stencil the word 'Spannungsbogen' at the end of the first summer.

"What does it even mean?" Harmony had asked petulantly from on top of the stepladder, and Illyria quoted:

_'The Fremen were supreme in that quality the ancients called 'spannungsbogen' - which is the self-imposed delay between desire for a thing and the act of reaching out to grasp that thing.'_

Harmony had made a noise that could be interpreted as either rude or disinterested. Illyria sighed, but with her best Fred chirp in place tried to clarify:

"It's from this really fascinating sci-fi novel that Jamesson recommended called 'Dune' - as in a sand dune with a 'd', not the month - and it had some incredibly interesting ideas about fate and leadership and-"

Harmony had at this point interrupted, her attention stretched beyond breaking. "Pardon me Your Highness, but all that sci-fi crap is only for losers and geeks. I'll do your stupid word, but don't explain any more, OK? I'm sorry I asked!"

Illyria shook her head at the memory and did a little Fred-like sigh. After 4 years of pretending to be Fred 24/7, the Fred aspects were beginning to bleed into her in an alarmingly permanent way. Of course this was really a good thing - she was sure that there was nothing that would ever cause the mask to slip, which had been an important part of her overall plan. All she needed now was to figure out how to tackle her next step.

Slowly she walked into the sitting room, delighting in the many plants she had filled it with over the years. The silent strength of all that grew was something she still loved, even if she had lost the deep connection she had once had - the music of roots and leaves, and the quiet symphony of flowers in bloom, lost along with so much else.

As she carefully watered all her pots, she wondered at what she should study this night. She had finished her books on Sanskrit the night before and wasn't quite sure if she wanted to continue with ancient languages just at the moment - maybe something cultural instead?

Sleep not being a requirement, she had in the past 4 years used the night time to study foreign cultures and languages, art, music, biology, sciences, psychology and numerous other subjects, as well as immersing herself in the history of the world. She had found humans to be satisfyingly bloodthirsty and cruel - and easily swayed by those with great charisma. But she also noted how dictatorships always floundered, and how empires invariably crumbled - usually through greed. Only religions kept going, although they too suffered from ebbs and flows. Intertwined with history was politics of course and she soon discovered that humanity's most fatal flaw was insincerity. Knox had been only been half right - their sneakiness was mighty, but it was also a two-edged sword.

But something puzzled her, as she had gone yet deeper with her studies. Humans were as a species deceitful, selfish and often cruel. And yet most of them admired honesty, unselfishness and love. It was a strange self-defeating mindset, but could prove very useful indeed. It was not your sins that people judged you on, but your lies...

Maybe a political biography would prove a good study tonight? There was one about Nixon that Jamesson had brought only a few days ago...

She was interrupted in her ruminations by a sudden knock on the door. Frowning Illyria went to open it, and frowned even deeper when she saw Harmony outside.

"Surprise!" the blonde called out and breezed past Illyria into the flat, two bulging bags in her hands.

"Surprise - what?" Illyria asked, in her best clueless Fred voice.

"Girls' Night!" Harmony replied, a wide triumphant grin on her face. Seeing the blank look on Illyria's face she explained, as she swiftly emptied the contents onto Fred's coffee table: "Remember that conversation we had the other day where you asked if romantic comedies ever reflected real life, and I said that the girlfriend stuff usually did and you then told me that you'd never had a girls' night and I said you'd really been missing out? Well I thought I could help you experience one for yourself! Look I brought a bunch of DVDs, tons of candy and some really nice Chardonnay." She held up the latest item with an unmistakable air of satisfaction and an overall expectation of gratitude.

"That's really nice of you Harmony..." Illyria began, as she with a sinking heart realised that Fred would have been far too sweet to throw Harmony out. She did not want to break character and Harmony - sometimes showing remarkable cunning - was well aware of this. At least the night would be somewhat profitable, since she had only seen one of the movies that Harmony had brought.

Many hours later as they were watching 'Green Card' - after Harmony had explained in great detail why Gerard Depardieu was hot and then cried a little because Spike had sometimes talked French to her - Illyria suddenly had an epiphany. Seeing 'Georges' tugging at another character's heartstrings, she now knew how to start her 'public service'. She watched the rest of the film with a small absentminded smile on her face, the crucial words playing over and over in her head:

_"Once I heard the sound  
of the wind in the trees."_

_"Once I heard the sound  
of the laughter of children."_

_"And I wept warm, salty tears  
for the lost trees."_

_"Let the little children  
come unto the trees..._

_and I will give them hope," he said._

_"But there are no trees  
for the poor, lost, poor children."_

******

It was an alley, but it wasn't dark. The sunlight shone brightly and illuminated the dirt, making the place more despondent than deep shadows could ever hope for. Illyria made her way briskly, her pretty boots never hesitating. At the end of the alley she found what she was looking for - a den where the worst criminals of the neighbourhood were said to reside. She pulled out a leaflet from her purse and then knocked on the door, a friendly smile in place.

A few moments later the door was opened by a tall, scruffy youth, a gun casually stuck down the front of his pants. He stared at 'Fred' for a long, rather befuddled moment, obviously trying to work out what on earth she was doing there.

"Jack! Who is it?" an impatient voice yelled from inside, and the kid frowned. "Dunno... What do you want lady?"

"Hi! I'm Fred. Can I come in please?"

"Uh - "

"Thank you!" she beamed and slid past him into the grimy interior. The place looked like a mockery of MTV Cribs, dirt and expensive technical goods vying for supremacy. Ignoring these she made a beeline for the big black guy who was obviously the leader. His gun was already aimed, but when he saw that she was only a small woman he lowered it, looking at her expectantly and somewhat surprised. A handful of violent looking youngsters was scattered around the room, cautiously waiting to see what their leader was going to do.

"All right lady. Who are you and what do you want? If you're some kind of undercover cop..."

"Oh no! My name is Winifred Burkle. Sorry to barge in like this. You're Jay-C right?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?" He was watching her very carefully, trying to figure her out. As she had hoped there was more to him than brawn - underneath the posturing and the menace there was obviously some brain power. He was becoming famous in LA for his violence and gang warfare, but was proving too slippery for the cops. Just the sort of guy she could use.

"Now you might have heard about this project I've been getting off the ground to make the neighbourhood prettier and enhancing people's lives by bringing in greenery. There's been lots of posters - 'A Green Future For Everyone'?"

She handed him the leaflet which he took automatically, then threw away after a brief glance.

"Anyway, I'm in need of some strong volunteers with lots of time on their hands, so I thought that guys like you and your friends - who have nothing to fill your lives with except drugs, violence and sex - might appreciate an opportunity to make a difference to some of the underprivileged kids around here so they won't grow up the way you have, drifting into a life of crime because of a society that's given up on them and the de-stabilising effect of the lack of a strong father figure due to the self-perpetuating problem of broken homes."

Jay-C stared at her for a few very long seconds, clearly trying to process what she'd been saying. Then he chuckled to himself and shook his head, impressed in spite of himself. "You've got balls lady. And I respect that. So I'm gonna let you go with no harm - just make sure you never come back, allright? Good causes ain't exactly our thing!" He grinned, showing a couple of shiny gold teeth, and his gang laughed unpleasantly.

"I figured you might say that." Illyria shook her head and sighed resignedly. "I'm gonna have to drag you down there, aren't I?"

"_You_ gonna drag _me_?" Jay-C laughed before beckoning a thug 10 times Fred's size forward.

"Escort our 'guest' outside, Big Mike."

"Will do Boss!" Big Mike said. But before he had a chance to put a hand on her, Illyria punched him hard in the stomach, then grabbed his hand and swiftly twisted his arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees as a pained groan escaped him.

"Sorry, but I'm not leaving until I get what I came for. I used to have a boyfriend a bit like you and I know that negotiating can sometimes be a bit tricky. So what do you say we just stop this whole posturing thing right now. I really don't want to have to beat up the lot of you - although I could! You can trust me on that!"

There was a dead silence as Jay-C slowly aimed his gun straight at her head. "Who the hell are you?"

"Told you - I'm Winifred Burkle and I want some help with my project!"

And she smiled brightly.

*****

 

_Half a year later..._

As Illyria was leaving her flat one afternoon, Mrs Gregory stuck her head out the door. Having a nosy and gossipy neighbour had been one of the most difficult things for Illyria to put up with, although it had oddly enough helped her 'bond' with Harmony who suffered from a similar fate.

"Oh Miss Burkle - I'm so glad I caught you!"

Illyria smiled encouragingly.

"I've got to say you and your initiative have changed things around here for the better, dearest. I was a little worried when you brought in all them nasty lookin' young 'uns to help, but they've done an incredible job. Now at the residents' meeting last night we were wondering if you'd ever thought of joining local politics - we could really use someone like you. Especially after that dreadful Mr Jarowsky and his scandalous behaviour - you have already fulfilled more of his campaign promises than he has in 2 years!"

Illyria smiled demurely. "I don't know... This project was supposed to be a one-off - I never thought it'd take off like it has..."

"Now don't be modest my dear!" Mrs Gregory admonished.

"Oh but I'm not real interested in politics." Illyria said, "All I need is my lab and a bunch of flowers and I'm happy."

"But that's why you need to do it deary - those who want to are nothin' but crooks and villains. We could do with someone sensible and hardworking, who really cares about the community! You've got a real gift for inspiring people - like that wonderful Mr Guilliani from New York after the terror attacks!"

Illyria blushed. "Gosh that's quite a compliment. But since you put it that way... I'll think about it."

Illyria's insides were practically glowing as she walked down the hallway a few moments later. It was just a question of time now... her careful planning had paid off and the future was in her hands. Wesley would have been so proud - although Knox had indeed given her the best gift of all: She was Winifred Burkle.

And soon her name would be on everyone's lips.


	5. Epilogue.

Illyria's temple had been beautiful. Soaring pillars, depth so vast it it could not be gauged. Austere. Severe. Perfect. Unadorned except for her statue - inspiring awe and terror and fear.

She had gone there but once - expecting to find her army, ready to lay the world under her feet. But it had gone; her army - her strength - was no more. The loss had been acute, like the severing of a limb, for what was a ruler without a world to rule? She had been condemned to live in a world of lesser beings, without the adoration she deserved - the absence of power like a void in her, one she had lived with every day, until...

_Now._

Illyria sat completely still, letting go of years of aggravating servility. Then slowly, slowly she opened her eyes, letting the essence of pure power fill her up. The room in which she sat was small and oddly homely. Flags and pictures adorned the walls, and there was comfortable seating in the middle of the room. Not much bigger than the average study she reckoned, and yet this was The Oval Office in The White House and she was its master. Its power didn't show, but she could feel it all around. At the tips of her fingers was the greatest, richest country in the world - bounty and treasures and weapons and resources all hers to command - and millions upon millions of followers.

She thought that this must be what a 'headrush' felt like - the sensation almost overwhelming. She finally felt like _Illyria_ again - her hands were no longer empty or powerless. She held the reigns to a new kingdom - and _this time_, it would last forever.

But the fight was only just beginning. She had ruthlessly pursued power - now that it was finally hers, she would have to work at keeping it. And at the top of her list was Wolfram and Hart. She was unsure how to best dismantle them, although so far they had proved less of a challenge than she had anticipated - and in some cases the outcome had been almost comical. There had been the time with the press conference...

******

The room had been packed with journalists, all wanting to talk to the new candidate. Everything had been going smoothly until a 'freelance journalist' had put up her hand. Taking in her appearance, Illyria knew that there was no way someone in a job like that would be able to afford real Prada, not to mention the most fashionable handbag of the moment that came with a $3000 price tag. W&amp;H were getting sloppy or desperate - whichever way, it suited her fine.

She nodded, and the immaculate young woman asked: "I'm sorry if I sound like a conspiracy theorist, but isn't a 5 year coma really very unusual... not to mention the fact that your parents couldn't find you. It would almost seem as though this coma was made up to... hide something?"

Illyria had smiled her most mischievous Fred smile. "Oh you clever thing - ah well, I always knew the truth would come out some day... "

The room went completely silent, every reporter hanging on her next words. She had taken a moment to savour the sensation - then continued, face earnest.

"OK, one day when I was working in the library, I opened up this huge big book, full of strange symbols. Before I knew what had happened something like a wormhole opened up and I was sucked into a parallel universe! It was like... Disney gone wrong - humans were kept as slaves by horrible creatures, but luckily I managed to escape and ended up living in a cave for years just like Robinson Crusoe, until one day a tall handsome vampire hero came and saved me on his stallion and brought me back home. Oh - and he was also a freelance detective!"

The room burst into simultaneous laughter and applause, and Illyria grinned. "I know... playing Dungeons and Dragons too much rots the brain, but it's nice to have something different to focus the mind before the big debates. Oh and I plan to write this all down in an Official Biography if I don't get elected, so you'd better vote for me!"

There were more chuckles, and the W&amp;H woman walked out in disgust. Illyria took a breath, and then turned serious. "But - speaking of my time in a coma, I must again highlight the plight of the charity that saved my life by paying for my medical bills when no one knew who I was. If you could all include information about them in your articles - this is the web address..."

******

Although relentlessly hard work, her journey to the presidency had been strangely enjoyable. The way everyone had underestimated her, thought her a little girl out of her league... and how opponent after opponent had found her as unyielding as rock, unwilling to compromise when she knew she was right. The press and the public, tired of lies and deceit, had swiftly fallen under her sway as she proved time and again that she was above such faults.

She almost pitied Wolfram &amp; Hart because they had had no way of defeating her - there was not a shady dealing in her entire history, nor the slightest whiff of scandal. And now that power was finally hers again... she would teach them a lesson! Their power being built on deceit and greed, it should prove fairly easy to expose them for what they were.

As satisfying as this would be, she realised that there was something... _missing_. She looked at her hands - Fred's hands in more than just memory. Her vessel had become a part of her to a much greater extent than she could ever have foreseen. And she could not show her true face...

When was the last time she had faced an opponent who knew who she really was? Or fought a battle with more than words and cunning? She had an army now, sure, but she would not be able to lead it into battle herself, tearing apart her enemies and displaying her trophies for all to see.

When was the last time blood had dripped from her hands?

She had won power in this world, but the price had been steep. It was - as she now knew - something called a catch-22. Finally she had the power that was her due as Illyria... and yet the very nature of that power dictated that she could not reveal herself. Not for many, long years. As she sat pondering this, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," she called out, and her secretary entered. "Sorry to disturb you, Miss... President..."

He smiled at the words and she smiled back.

"...but the party is about to begin, and we can't start without you!"

"I'm on my way," she replied as she got up. "I'm still just trying to adjust to actually being here - it's a bit overwhelming. I wanna start like... a hundred different things right now!"

And they both laughed as they walked out of the Oval Office.

 

A while later - after she'd made a speech about a new future for the nation and assorted thank you's - Illyria was mingling with her guests, making small talk and greeting people. Looking around, she shot a swift smile at Jay-C, now her head of security, as he was conferring with Big Mike - both of them beneficiaries of her '2nd Chance' scheme when she was a Governor. She would have to take it nation wide as early as possible.

Now who was this? A split second later the information was there, and she inquired after the Ambassador's family and congratulated him on his newborn son. The man was obviously impressed and touched, and she easily arranged a meeting with him in the near future - there were some trade deals that could be made better, and he looked very receptive.

The key to success had been so very easy once she had found it: Discover what someone wanted and then give it to them. But do it in a way that showed that you cared and did not expect anything in return - and soon your bounty would overflow. She had in times past been used to the masses adoring and worshipping her, and if it was out of fear or admiration it did not matter. But with humans it was different - to them the most important thing in the world was love. And if you could get someone to follow you out of love, then their loyalty was assured forever.

Having finished with the Ambassador, she greeted a steel magnate, offering him a sincere thank you for helping to finance her final campaign. As he moved on, Illyria wondered if maybe she should help herself to a glass of Champagne to show her spirit of celebration, when suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks.

In front of her - as real as the air which she did not breathe - stood Spike!

After a moment's complete surprise, her face cracked open in a wide smile and she threw her arms around his neck.

_(Big outbursts of emotion were allowed for those in higher offices if the occasion was great enough. It helped to show that they were not above the general populace and still had a touchingly human side.)_

"Spike! You're alive!" she pulled back, hands resting on his shoulders, and surveyed him in wonder.

How had he made it out alive? How had she not known? Studying him, she suddenly realised that it was not just his hair that was now different _(the brown curls had delayed her recognition by about 3/10 of a second)_ \- his skin was warm, his heart was beating, and his face showed signs of ageing. His hair even had a few scattered grey strands.

"I mean... _really_ alive! How can this be? I thought you were... well... dead!"

_(Careful, careful, her mind told her. Never let the mask slip, never let on what really happened - there are people all around us and every word is being caught on tape.)_

He smiled softly and took her hands.

"It's a long story, although I'm sure you'll be able to work out most of it by yourself. Suffice to say I went to Europe as soon as possible... I didn't even know where you were until a few years ago when you started making a noise. You've done well!"

He looked around the room - and by implication the whole building and the office she now held - in an appreciative manner, but she could tell that there were other, unsaid things hiding behind his words. This had been one of the hardest things to learn - figuring out how to understand when people said one thing, but meant or insinuated something else. Hard, but not impossible.

Spike's companion said nothing, just observed in silence.

"Amazing, isn't it? Little me, in such elevated surroundings. Who would have thought it?" Illyria did her best bashful-Fred impersonation, although she knew that it was useless to fool him. He was playing a game she could tell, his eyes full of secrets and hidden meanings - but she was the master of all human games now.

Spike shook his head. "Naw - always knew you'd go far. Guess I'm a little surprised at your... patience." Before she could answer, he let go of her hands and pulled forward his companion - a beautiful blonde in a flame coloured dress. "But where are my manners? Fred, I'd like you to meet my wife, Buffy Summers!"

"You're married? How wonderful!" Illyria exclaimed, as she enthusiastically shook Buffy's hand. A grip of considerable strength meant that if there had been any doubt, it was now certain that this was _The_ Buffy Summers, Slayer extraordinaire, averter of Apocalypses and Saviour of Human Kind.

"It's great to finally meet - I've heard so much about you!" the Slayer said, a brilliant smile on her lips. Illyria could clearly see why her two vampires had fallen for her. She easily outshone every other person in the room with her sheer presence - power glowing around her for those who could see such things.

"Any children?" Illyria inquired mischievously, and Buffy smiled. "Twin boys - just as impossible as their father!" Spike grinned proudly, then added, "Of course we do see an awful lot of girls in our work, so it's nice that home is more of a male territory!"

He put his arm protectively around his wife and Buffy mock-slapped him. "Shut up. We do good work in The Council - we could maybe even tell the President about it sometime if she's interested?"

Illyria observed them warily. The 'girls' they were speaking of could only be the Slayers that had been activated all around the world. Were they offering their allegiance?

"Sounds fascinating - we should try to meet someday," she replied. Spike shook his head at Buffy. "Don't be too optimistic Pet, remember that Fred will be looking out for America's interests first and foremost, just as we try to watch out for Britain..."

There was a smile on his lips, but his eyes were cold as he studied Illyria.

Ah, so that's how it was. This was probably also the explanation for how they managed to get into this party. The Watcher's Council would know which strings to pull - a powerful organisation indeed. As she pondered the new scenario, a question intruded and she felt compelled to change the subject.

"Do you know what happened to Angel?"

She knew the answer before they replied, saw it clearly on their suddenly pained faces, the tighter grip of their hands.

"We're still looking!" Buffy said, although the remnants of hope in her voice were stretched thin. It had been many years indeed since the battle in the alley - and if Spike had reaped the Shanshu, then Angel must upon his death have slipped into hell... but such was the fate he had chosen. It was not for Illyria to interfere with what The Powers ordained - not yet anyway...

Obviously deciding that the topic was too sensitive, Spike brought up something new. "We hear you enjoy playing D&amp;D?"

"I do..." she answered, unsure where he was going with this.

"Win a lot?" his tone was light, but she now understood that he was using this as a metaphor for her path. This was tricky. D&amp;D could not be won - but then no one had ever ruled the whole world. Some had come close, but she intended to have it all.

"Always." she replied.

Spike nodded slowly, then smiled a little. "Interesting - so do we."

"So I hear..." she answered, glancing at Buffy, "...got any special tricks?"

Buffy smiled - the self-assured, challenging smile of a Champion accustomed to winning - and said. "Got this weapon - very old and powerful - killed the last pure... dragon."

_Oh._ This was new. A weapon that could slay pure demons was a mighty thing indeed. They had the means to kill her, and had obviously chosen this moment to let her know...

So they were not on her side, but new players in her game - righteous ones, fighting for the 'good' of humankind and capable of taking her down. Worthy adversaries at last - raising the stakes and by so doing making the eventual victory more satisfying.

"Fascinating..." she replied, eyes glowing.

Then Jamesson was at her elbow. "Pardon me, but you're needed Madam President..."

"Of course!" she smiled. "Spike - Mrs Summers - it was wonderful to see you. Maybe we'll meet sometime - we could play D&amp;D..."

"Count on it!" Spike replied, and he and the Slayer stepped back and vanished in the crowd. Illyria followed Jamesson, a secretive smile on her lips.

Living had never been so sweet...

 

THE END


End file.
